Crimson and Clover
by boredomsetsin13
Summary: He figured he didn't know her quite enough to love her.
1. Not Real Lonesome, Just Quiet

Disclaimer: I do not own the "Outsiders" characters. Nor do I own the song for which this story is named after.

Author's Note: I would love to thank Pearl Primrose for beta-reading this for me.

* * *

The house was quieter than normal. Not real lonesome, just quiet.

I looked out at my empty street. Rain had began to pelt the windows about ten minutes before. I was real glad that my father was at work at York's Lumber Yard (_For All Your Building's Needs!_ the sign read) and my mother was at a friend's house playing Bridge with a few other girl friends. Though how she got those friends, I'll never figure out. She wasn't all that friendly to me.

Maybe she had the same sort of charm that Dal had that kept Sylvia coming back again and again, even after girl after girl or cooler stint after cooler stint.

It was chilly in my house. The rain's noise made it kind of lonely, real fast, once I started thinking too much about it. I think I'd take the lonesomeness over my parents almost any old day, though.

There were a few good days here and there. Dad would be a little less irritable, so I wouldn't get a clout over my head. Mom would ask me where I was going when I opened the front door, and I'd tell her that I was going "just around." But there was always bad days, too. I wasn't about to forget getting my legs and ass beat with a broken-off broom handle. That had hurt a load the next few days. I wasn't about to go forgetting that. Not at all.

I walked up to the staticky, grainy TV and turned it on; just about any company was good company. Then I turned the dial that controlled the channels. I settled on _The Andy Griffith Show_. Andy was just great.

His face was strong, and it appeared to have had worried enough already. My dad's younger pictures sort of looked like Andy, but there was less worry and more general displeasure. Andy's face was warmer. Sometimes, I could close my eyes, and imagine fishing with Andy at his secret spot on the lake. He knew where all the good spots were, and this one was the best. He'd found it when he was a kid. I wondered if he thought taking me, his own kid, to a place that was so old was funny. I thought it great, homey, sort of.

I really liked ol' Andy. He seemed like a cop that was actually a nice guy. And that little town of his seemed like a perfect town - small, friendly. Part of me was tempted to look at a map of North Carolina and see if there actually was a Mayberry. I really wanted there to be one, because I wanted to visit it. Hell, I think I wanted to live there.

I would live there, and I'd find a girl. She wouldn't be greasy at all. She'd be soft, and like to cook. The Mayberry Girl wouldn't swear or smoke. She'd wear pretty dresses that felt soft. The girl would look bashful if I leaned in for a goodnight kiss on her sweet, soft cheek.

Mayberry is pure country, I tell you. Sweet and flowery and quiet country. It seemed like the perfect place to be.

The episode was wrapping up already - an old lady had sold Barney a lemon. Brother, was that guy a boob. Andy had to tell him damn near everything.

As I walked over to the window, the floor creaked. I knew just when it would creak and how loud the creak would be every time. I knew my house like I knew the opening tune to _Andy_. Knowing my house that well was a feat, considering I spent my share of nights in the lot or on a couch at Two-Bit Mathews's or the Curtis' house.

Parting the drapes, I saw down the street, to the left a few houses, a person was walking. When it got a house closer, I saw that it was a girl. When it got two houses closer, I saw that it was Carolyn Codie.

She was born in June, she said, and that's why it was her middle name.

Her hair had changed, I noticed. It was supposed to be a just-fine brown, but now it was a bright but dark-at-the-same-time red. I saw from here that it was curlier than usual from the rain that had now slowed down to a drizzle. She needed to run a comb through her hair before she went to the restaurant. I guess she looked presentable enough, though. Just enough.

Carolyn let out at a slow jog. Her hair was bumping against her chest nicely. She looked paler than usual, like she was upset. It was funny to see her that color. Most of the time she's got a little bit of warm sun on her face.

She was already in her waitress get-up. It was getting damp, and if the stories about her boss that she told me were true, he'd not be too happy. Her boss - Mr. Kanter or Kanton, I think - was a little strict on his girls. He only had waitresses, and Carolyn told me he had some of the most customers in town.

I jumped about a foot in the air when I heard a knock at the door.

"Who the hell is it?" I called, hoping I'd achieved the right sort of authority in my voice, through the wood. There was a stamp of a foot. Someone was angry, I gathered. It could be someone I may not want to tangle with. I'd do it though, if they hung around too much longer. I'd show them. "Who?"

"It's me, Johnny! Let me in!" she called. Relief, I tell you. Unadulterated relief.

I jerked the door open, and saw Carolyn. She looked a little more than frustrated, and a lot more than worried.

"So, what's Barney and Andy been up to?" she asked with a grin on her lips as she eyed the television.

I burst right into a re-telling of the episode: "An old bag sold Barney a bad car, and Andy knew better - as usual. Then Barney finally figured it out. Blah, blah, blah. You know the rest," I said.

She smiled again. "You bet I do, Johnny." I had forgotten how much she liked the show, too. Once I heard her going on and on about how much of a doll she thought the guy who played Jim Lyndsey was to a girl friend of hers.

It got real quiet. A thought donned on me. "Carolyn, why'd you need in here so badly? Ain't you supposed to be at work already?"

Carolyn lightly hit her forehead with the heel of her palm. "Yeah, I sure as hell do. Do you mind if I change into my normal clothes here? I don't wanna go to work with a sopping-wet uniform. Kanton'll be mad," she said. There was a thick wrinkle of worry creasing her forehead.

* * *

_I slipped inside Carolyn's place of work, unnoticed. My eyes found her quickly. She was talking to a few of her girl friends. I knew one of the names: Lisa King. Carolyn talked about her a little; she said she had the prettiest hands she'd ever seen. An argument burst into my throat, but I had bit it back, and let her continue._

_She was speaking animatedly to the three other girls. I couldn't tell if she was happy or not. One of them glanced at the clock hanging on the ferociously nauseating pink wall opposite of me. They retreated into the back where a door blocked the customers' view. A moment later, Mr. Kanton stepped out from a corner where he'd been eating his lunch. He was mumbling words under his breath, hiding his frustration from the diners. I watched him stand, wait._

_Nine minutes passed - I had watched the second-hand's rotations around the clock face - before Carolyn, Lisa King, and two other girls stepped back into the common area. Their boss stepped straight for them, ushered them into the back._

_"He gives us a goddamn ten-minute break twice a day!" she exclaimed as we sat in school the next day. Her face was flushed. I imagined what she'd look like with a cigarette between her pointer and index fingers or her lips. I debated whether I liked what my thoughts came up with or not._

_"Why was he so angry, though," I said. Usually, I didn't mind her complaints about work, but today, I wanted her to talk about something else, anything else. A heavy sigh came from her side of the desk, and I glanced at her from the corners of my eyes._

_"He says we took the break a few minutes before we should've and we didn't clear it with him first." I nodded. I thought about a vein in Kanton's head pulsing, his face read, him scaring Carolyn. My interest peaked. "I kinda forgot about that rule," she murmured._

_My mouth struggled to keep quiet. "Try not to forget next time," I blurted, regretting it immediatly. Her mouth seemed to curl in on itself. For just a second, I could see what Carolyn Codie would look like when she was a forty-year-old, had three kids but one drowned when he was three, and married to a guy with red eyes. I blinked away the forty-year-old, and saw her again as a youth._

_The bell rang, and I jumped up. She left, as well. Walking faster than usual, she shook me off._

* * *

I nodded enthusiastically. For a moment, I glanced down to see exactly how wet her waitress-dress had gotten. The damage wasn't too bad. It'd be good to not get it any wetter, though.

"Yeah. . . . Uh, down the hall, last door to your left - that'll be my room," I said. My forefinger pointed in the general direction she should start in, though it was a pointless gesture. I watched her - mostly her hips - walk down the hall, and I heard my door squeak as she shut it.

I stood in front of the television and began watching an episode of _Bonanza_. A second later I took a step back, and sat down on my old, lumpy, springy couch.

My hand gave a small, minute twitch. It would've gone almost-unnoticed, but my glass of milk crashed to the hard, cold floor.

Milk splattered on my stocking-covered feet and the bottom of the sofa.

I jumped up real fast and crossed the small living room to the hallway. The small towel-closet was just inside the small bathroom.

A tiny yelp escaped my thin lips. I shut them down tight. I could barely breathe. A sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach made me think I was going to blow chunks all over the hallway. . . . Dad sure wouldn't like that.

Apparently, the tongue of my doorknob hadn't clicked entirely shut. My door stood open a little more than a foot. That damn knob hardly ever shut on the first try. It was old and needed to be replaced.

Carolyn was standing just a foot or two in front of my bed, back turned to me. Her back was bare, though.

All she had on were her underthings.


	2. Carolyn Looked Soft

Boy howdy, Carolyn looked soft.

* * *

_"Man, I wish you coulda heard her squeal when I started kissin' on her neck," Sodapop said with bright eyes. I could hear all the excitement he had in him right there, in his voice. Two-Bit whistled, loud and real sharp. He had to teach me how to do that sometime. I kept meaning to ask, but then I kept forgetting._

_I felt my cheeks turn beet-red. My eyes flicked over to Pony's face, and I took note that his face was even redder than mine. Hell, his red went on down to his neck and up into his ears. He was staring towards his older brother with a sort of wonder and admiration on his face._

_I couldn't remember how many times we've had conversations like this one, almost exactly like this one. All the girls loved Soda._

_"Yeah, buddy, I bet you had her singin'," Dallas said in that hard, tough way he had of saying things._ His voice has memories of girls in it_, I thought. I sort of wanted my voice to be able to sound like that, too, some day._

_"Who was it, Soda?" I squeaked. A few names flew around in my head: Peggy Jones who lived on the East-side, had the best hips a guy has ever seen shake, and smoked two packs a day; Geraldine McCartin who wore her skirts always just below her knees and laughed prettily; Marian Best who had pretty, russet-colored hair, put on too much eye stuff, and who cried when she was just meandering about after her boy friend got his skull cracked and bled to death in a fight._

_He grinned wolfishly. After a pause and in almost a whisper he said, "Babe O'Conner."_

_Barbara O'Conner was one of the most-wanted girls in Will Rogers High School. She had a thin body, but it didn't look hard or boyish. Her smile was as soft as her hips looked. Babe had fake blonde hair, but she had it just the right blonde to make her green eyes sparkle real nice. Anyways, Sodapop liked blondes, and it was all right if it was natural or came courtesy of Clairol. She was a fine girl, a real cherry._

_But Babe was a Social. I guess that didn't bother her or Sodapop too much. When it came to him, the girls didn't mind his greasy hair as much as they minded ours._

_"You don't mean Barbara O'Conner, do ya? You gotta be tryin' to pull somethin' over on us, Soda Curtis, buddy. There's no way in a hot hell that Soc'd let you touch her like that! Come on, man, Babe O'Conner? The cute, short little number?" Two-Bit asked in disbelief._

_"Yep. The Big-Tit Wonder, herself. . . . " Sodapop cupped air in front of his chest with both hands and grinnned like the Cheshire Cat. "In the flesh, ya could say. You could say it like that, couldn't ya, Pone?" he asked, looking at his little brother with a devilish grin on his face. Pony just shook his head a little bit, looking toward the floor._

_"Naw, that Soc wouldn't let you lay a greasy paw on her nice, clean skin," Dal said. He looked like he was remembering something. I wasn't too sure if I wanted him to share it, either._

_"Lissen, Dal, she wasn't sayin'_ nothin'_. Shit fire, the only things she was doin' other than tryin' to unbutton all the buttons between us was makin' little noises. Man, you shoulda heard her squeakin'. Babe was sounding like a stuck pig, let me tell ya. Like a hinge that needed oilin'," he said. He had a smile on his face the size of the state of Texas._

_Soda shook his head like a real tragedy had happened. "The prude -," he started. He had been cut off by snorts of laughter and disbelief issuing from most of the guys - me included._

_Babe didn't have the reputation of a prude, by any means. Like I said, she was the most-wanted girl in Will Rogers. Babe didn't have any trouble getting someone to hold her. Boys were lined up for half a mile to get the chance to go on a date with her. She didn't have to walk around school for too long, having to hold her own books. Some other chump would always be right behind her, asking her how her day was going, what class was she going to._

_I didn't really dig on blondes that well, though._

_She had been dating a guy named Gordon Crawley -_ Soc guy with a bad name_, I thought. A rumor started going around that he got his hands between some other girl's knees. I heard Barbara dumped the poor sap._

_"Anyways, the prude wouldn't hardly let me kiss 'er any lower than the jaw," he said, regret and triumph coating the word "hardly."_

_Then Sodapop said in a high-pitched imitation, "'Oh, no, Sodapop! Don't get all hot and goin'! I gotta be home soon."_

_For a moment, I felt a little bad. The next time I saw Barbara, I would think of her as the girl that tried to get both hers and Soda's shirts off but wouldn't let him kiss her too far. I wondered if she was sitting around with her girl friends, talking about Sodapop. I wondered if her friends would listen to her and not whistle and not try to picture what he looked like out of his clothes._

_I almost wanted to leave. Only almost, though._

_"Are we gettin' to the good part, yet?" Two-Bit asked, sounding as if he had a hundred other things to do that day. I knew all he was going to do later was have a pretty lonesome party with a few six-packs of Bud._

_Sodapop nodded enthusiastically. "Boys, let me tell you how soft she was. When she finally un-did all the buttons on her shirt I started touchin' on her and stuff, you know? Brother, her skin felt like damn silk," he said, unable to get the words from his mouth fast enough._

_I shook my head, and looked down._

_That guy could get just about any girl he ever wanted. If he set his wild eyes on a girl, she considered herself lucky._

* * *

I wanted to step a little closer to Carolyn. My eyes were straining to get a better look at her.

Carolyn wasn't all that thin, but she was a real looker. She looked like the pretty ladies in all the old movies. I kind of wanted to tell her that, but I didn't know how.

I wanted to touch her, because Sodapop always talked on and on about how he liked feeling on his girl friends. He couldn't shut his mouth when he got on the topic of how soft they were.

The overhead light was off, but the blinds were open, so some light was shining through the window. It almost made her glow.

I knew a ripple-pattern would be covering her front.

For a second, she was just about as close to perfect as anything I've ever seen.

Heat thumped through my veins, and I felt my cheeks warm and flush a deep ruby.

I was finding it difficult to move. She wouldn't want me looking in on her while she changed, but I couldn't move my feet.

Carolyn wasn't particularly slender; I'd always known that, but looking at her the way I was then, I saw how her shape went. There was an obvious in-curve at her waist, and her hips went out in a smooth way.

She bent her legs at the knees - the most knobbly knees you've ever seen - to pick up a sock that had fallen to my floor.

I'd heard Mr. Kanton wanted the waitresses - he only had girls working there, for some reason; something about attracting more business, or something, I think - to wear a very specific uniform, right down to the socks.

I knew that I should be seeing her brown eyes, but I was only seeing her newly-red, curly hair.

My eyes raked down her bare legs, and I stopped at her ankles. I thought nothing was really wrong with her ankles, but Carolyn said she really hated them, for some reason. I don't think I ever asked her what was so wrong with them.

_They work_, is what I always thought to myself. I never said it out loud, in case she was going to be in a mood. I guess I wanted to tell her that she could be in a wheelchair, with legs that don't work right. I never did, though. I think I'm glad, too.

She was humming to herself, and folding her uniform up.

Guilt spread through me like a bad, green poison. I was crossing my fingers and toes that she wouldn't turn around and see me looking in on her like a regular, dirty, sneaking Peeping Tom.

My thoughts jumped to her brother, for some reason. Ralph was young - only seven - and innocent, like I had always thought of Carolyn as. But now Carolyn didn't seem so innocent and delicate to me. All of that was changed, and I didn't know if it was for the better or for the worse.

She seemed like a big girl who knew the score of her neighborhood and how to live with it, in it, around it. Carolyn J. Codie was different to me, now.

Her mother wouldn't like me gawking at her baby. Carolyn's mother died when she was a seven-year-old - almost ten years ago. Hell, she was probably looking down from Heaven, right now, on me checking out her full-grown, good-looking daughter.

The thoughts about her dead mom shook me out of whatever cloud I was in. I stepped back, and turned.

The spilled milk was all but forgotten on the living room floor.

I returned to the couch. It had been only two minutes since I had made the mess, but it felt like a year had passed.

The screen was still glowing with _Bonanza_.

Four minutes later, Carolyn walked out from the hallway. This time, instead of being almost naked like the women in those girly magazines, she wore a navy blue skirt and a light pink shirt with buttons. Her shirt was rosy and it matched her full cheeks. Carolyn's name was stitched in dark, dark blue on the left side of her shirt. I swallowed back a lot of spit, and I had to tear my eyes away from that blue thread over her chest.

"Y-your cheeks are real red, Carolyn," I stammered.

Her brow puckered. A heartbeat later: "Thanks, Johnny, for lettin' me use your room." For the most part, she was a happy girl, a woman, or a lady. She was a lady and a woman in my eyes, and it was not like it used to be.

She stood behind me, so I stood up. I could smell something she had probably sprayed on her, and I hoped that my room would carry that same scent, and I secretly asked for it to smell like that forever. The smell was somewhere between a gardenia blossom and an orange blossom. It wasn't an unfamiliar smell; it was something a bunch of the girls - Socy ones in particular - had taken to wearing. It smelled a million times better on her, though.

Fire filled my throat and gut, but it was not entirely unpleasant. Jelly replaced the bones, muscles, and tendons in my legs, but it almost could be considered a good thing.

I wanted to touch her. I wanted to see her like how I had before.

She had looked like a painting or a movie, then, and now she looked like a sort of chubby girl that was going to work as a waitress so she could buy a new sweater.

Carolyn was different than she was when she first stepped into my house earlier - not even half an hour before. There was something different about how her eyes gleamed and how her body moved. She even smelled a little different.

"Well, Johnny, I'm gonna go on to work, now," she said slowly. Her head turned slightly to stare out the window. "Huh. . . . Looks like that rain finally stopped. I s'pose I didn't really need to stop in here, after all. . . . I'm glad I did, though. . . . I'll, uh, see ya around, Johnny Cade." She grinned, and it was really good.

Carolyn stepped out the door, unhearing of the stammer from me that was meant as a goodbye.

My hand drifted to pull the drapes apart. I watched her walk down the street, her hips swaying from side-to-side with each small step.


	3. I Didn't Dream at All

I didn't know exactly what it was in me that was building up, but it was warm and bubbling. Maybe it was what the Leading Male feels for the Leading Female in the movies? I think it was what Rhett felt for Scarlett, even though they never really seemed to get along all that well. It seemed good enough, pleasant. I didn't want to ask the guys about it. No way, not with how they are. . . . I didn't think most of them would even know about it.

When I went to sleep that night, I didn't dream at all. Normally, I dream at least a little. I sort of figured that I'd have dreams with Carolyn in them, or at least her back.

Dad had come home, interrupting my sleep really early in to it. He had been upset about something that happened at work. After he yelled . . . hit . . . smacked . . . , I left. I went walking around for a few hours, smoking cigarettes, thinking about Carolyn's bare back, and when I saw all of the lights go down at my house, I decided to sneak into my bedroom window. What a shame it is, living in a world that you have to sneak in to like a regular sneak, creep.

If I don't wash my dish, I get hit. If I stay quiet while I'm getting shouted at, I get shouted at a little more for not speaking up, for not being a man. If I speak up, be a man, I get beat.

If I don't go to school for a couple days, it gets ignored. But if I track in a little dirt, . . . buddy boy, you best bet that doesn't get past my folks. It doesn't get ignored, not by a long-shot.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, I walked out into the kitchen for something to eat. I decided on a piece of toast.

It was a bright Sunday morning. Dad could've possibly been at work, because he worked weekends a lot. Mom could be at a friend's house or at the grocery store. But it was seven in the morning on this particular Sunday, so neither of them were awake yet, I knew it.

I wanted to beat it out of there quick, before they woke up, angry.

After I burned one piece of bread, I decided I'd be better off not wasting it. With those last thoughts, I marched out the front door, burned bread in clammy hand.

There was a slam of the door behind me, because I guess I had forgotten to shut it lightly. I jumped off my short porch and hit the ground at a run. The door's slam might have made Dad mad. It may have woken him earlier than he wanted to on his Sunday morning, but I honestly didn't care at that point; I was gone.

It was hot. A sheen of sweat covered my forehead. My dark T-shirt was stuck to my back. I felt gross as I trudged down the familiar sidewalk, with my hands jammed in my pockets.

After a few more minutes of wandering on my own, I heard someone call my name. "Hey! Hey, Johnnycake! Hey!" he shouted.

I glanced up, and recognized a face.

"Hey, Pony," I said as my buddy jogged over to me. He slung his arm over my shoulders lazily.

"What ya been up to today, Johnnycake? How come you're up and about so early? Hell, Johnny, it's only eight o' clock!" He exclaimed as his greased hair flopped around easily, lightly for a second.

I grinned as I dove into an explanation, "I dunno, Ponyboy. I just didn't feel like sleepin' in, I guess. . . . "

Most of me - the part that won - didn't want to tell him about what happened with my dad last night. Even though everyone in the gang knew about my folks, I didn't like telling them about it.

I didn't bother asking Pony why he was out so early himself.

* * *

My buddy and I walked around for a little while. We ended up at a bowling alley called Hit the Lanes. Their pinball machine was better than the one at Roll 'Em Over and much better than the one at Arrow Alley.

Until me and Ponyboy ran out of coins, we played and played.

"Wanna get a pop?" Pony asked me when all the money had been used up. I agreed in an unthinking manner.

When I stepped outside, I had to squint my eyes and hold up a hand to shade them.

I wasn't thinking about the fact that I was out of money, and Ponyboy only had a dollar bill left that he hadn't wanted to break. Anyways, I wouldn't let him break it over a few more pinball games.

My head turned, I stared back at the big, "Hit the Lanes", sign that gave the title of the building. It had been pretty cool inside, making me forget how hot it actually was outside.

"Are we headin' to Winsor's or the Dingo?" Ponyboy asked as he tilted his head in my direction. "I think the Dingo's closer, but Winsor's has better fries."

"Yeah, I think it says that somewhere in the name," I said back smartly. Pony looked over at me, grinned, and laughed.

There was no question. Carolyn Codie worked at Winsor's Infamous Hot Dogs and Fries. She worked there most evenings after school and weekends. I was kind of itching to see her.

One time I asked her why she worked so many shifts, and she said it was because she didn't want her Aunt Mary-Louise to have to buy her clothes anymore.

I met her when we had to be science partners one time. We didn't talk much but we did have some conversation. I guess that was enough. Even when the partnership was ended, we continued to talk some.

It was last year that we were science partners, and I suppose that over time we just became friends. She never went to my house before yesterday. She didn't know about my folks, and that was the way I wanted to keep it. We were mostly just school friends.

The only way she knew where I lived was because she had walked with me one day from school, and that had been my stop. I maybe should've walked with her, but I thought it best to go home. _Well, it's best for me_, was what I had been thinking in the back of my mind.

It had been a humid, breezy, and cloudless day. Social weather, if you ask me or any of my buddies. Most of my friends were off doing something either in the company of another or on their lonesome, so I figured I'd be better off on my own at my house on a day like that.

Brother, it sure had surprised the hell out of me seeing Carolyn, in all her damp, looker wonder, standing on my porch, right out of the blue.

* * *

The cool air of Winsor's hit my face and it cleared my head a little. From my first steps in the joint, I was looking around for my Carolyn. No, I knew she wasn't mine. I was looking for _my_ friend. I could at least say that she was _my_ friend.

A blur of shiny red jumped past my eyes.

"Where do ya wanna sit, Johnnycake?" Ponyboy asked me.

A look of utter bewilderment darkened my face, then simple understanding lightened it. "Uh, . . . how about over at the counter?" I was hoping that Carolyn was taking care of the counter today.

"Wha- Oh, hey, Johnny. How's it goin'? Who's your friend?" A voice asked with mild interest after we sat down. I knew that voice, even though I didn't hear it often.

A stab of jealousy struck through me as Carolyn asked about Ponyboy - not me, but my fourteen-year-old friend.

"Oh, yeah. That's Ponyboy Curtis," I said to her, while gazing downwards. My cheeks were flushed and heated.

"Hi," Pony mumbled.

I finally looked up at Carolyn, and I was glad that I did, because . . . Well, there was just something about her that I noticed yesterday, and I liked it a whole lot.

It was still kind of funny to see that dark, vivid red pouring down over her shoulders. But it did make her blue-gray eyes stand out more.

"Listen, guys, can ya speed your order up a little bit more? Kanton hates it when I stand around, just chattin' with payin' customers, like yourselves," she said with a shade of regret in her frustrated voice. Carolyn had a sleepiness to her voice that made me sad. I wanted her to sleep. I didn't want her to have to be tired while she worked for assholes that wanted a hot dog, medium fries, and a pop.

I was figuring that since I had no money, I wasn't really a paying customer. The cynical thought brought a hard laugh to my lips. She could stand around talking to me forever and it wouldn't be against any rules at all.

Carolyn took our orders: two Cokes, both on Ponyboy. I watched her walk away. And apparently while I was watching her, Pony was watching me.

"What's up with you and that little chick, Johnny Cade?" he asked, both seriously and jokingly. I stammered a bit. My cheeks flushed. I sort of wanted to belt my friend - someone I'd fought alongside - in the face. He had no business being that nosy about Carolyn; especially anything - though, there was very little - concerning the both of us at the same time.

I shook my head with a sad finality. "Nothin's up with me and Carolyn, Pony. . . . And don't think about askin' me again," I threatened half-heartedly. A look of confusion crossed his face like a shadow from a building.

I pulled a pack of smokes from my T-shirt sleeve, and took two cigarettes. I gave one to Ponyboy; he knew I wasn't mad anymore.


	4. God Really Heard Me

"Here they are, boys," a voice said from across the counter. My heart jumped. My ears turned red at the mere thought of her hearing what I'd told Ponyboy.

It occurred to me to look up at her. Lord knows how often I'll be able to see that nice-looking face of hers. . . . Her beautiful smile . . .

It hadn't been Carolyn. The person who handed me and my buddy our Coca-Colas was a woman of about thirty with tired eyes and dirty blonde hair.

I didn't think to say thank you. On a normal day, that would've made me feel bad, but it didn't today.

Pony talked about some broad from his History class, but I wasn't hearing him, not really. I was busy. Too damn busy to listen to some useless ramblings. I wanted to remember Carolyn for a while. I liked thinking about her. When I thought about her, I lied to myself. I could convince myself that she could love me someday. My lies were warm. I was hoping to crawl into them, sort of.

"Johnny? Wan' another pop? I got more money," Pony offered, tilting his head in my direction. I shook my head. A frown filled my face.

He started to stand up from the stool he was at. I barely noticed the movement. I wanted to stay around Winsor's for a while. I told Pony to go on ahead, that maybe I'd catch up with him later. Though, I had no real intention to do so.

My hand went for my glass and the water on the outside gave me a start. I must have only had a drink or two, though I didn't remember any of them. The glass was still full. Sweat from the glass and my palm made the surface slick as ice. A second later, it dropped from my half-assed grip.

For the second time in two days, I broke a glass. The thirty-something-year-old came over to clean it up.

Carolyn leaped - or that's what I saw, anyways - in front of the woman.

"Nah, I got it, Lorraine, don't worry 'bout it." Lorriane grinned in thanks.

"I, uh . . . I'm . . . sorry," I stammered from embarrassment. Then, I jumped up from the counter stool and nearly ran out of the place. A cigarette sounded real fine at the moment.

* * *

Later that day I actually ended up seeing Ponyboy again.

Dallas got out of the cooler. He wanted to go out the next night. Pony and I agreed to go with him.

My folks were fighting up a storm, so I figured it was best to sleep in the lot.

The weather was hot during the day but a lot colder at night, just like the desert.

Sometime before eight o' clock, I saw a soft red-head walking my way. I knew who it was from that walk of hers. She lead with her left foot always, and it appeared a little awkward.

Instead of me having to holler at her, she called to me first. "Johnny?"

I got up from the curb. "Hi, uh . . . "

She seemed even different from a few hours before. Her face looked oddly older. She was a year older than me anyways, and the only reason I knew her was on account of me being kept back in the second grade for a repeat and her parents starting her in school when she was six and being held back in the fourth grade. I couldn't figure out if it was real good or real bad, the look on her face, I mean.

Carolyn did most of the talking. I never noticed how much she could just gab on and on if someone let her. She told me about a real jerk that ordered an extra-order of fries one time and how he spent the whole time he was there, throwing the extra-order at her bit by goddamn bit.

* * *

_It was cold out, but that wasn't really stopping me from being out in it. The thing that was keeping me out there was inside the restaurant. The thing had flat-brown, very curly hair that was to her shoulders and a soft shape. The thing wasn't all that thin. Boy, was that thing pretty._

_Carolyn never really had a boy friend that I knew of, so I guess I was one of the few people - aside from her aunt, I bet - that saw how nice she usually looked. There were a few days where she hadn't dressed in her best sweater, but the next day she was back to being good-looking._

_With my hands cupped around my face and my face pressed against the big window, I looked for my friend. I glanced around the restaurant for a few moments. I guess I was hoping I wouldn't have to go inside, and still get to see her for a bit, but it didn't quite work out that way._

_I told myself that I just went inside to get out of the cold, and I sort of believed myself. Sometimes, I can do things like that - like lying to myself, and myself believing it, hook, line, and sinker. I think that everyone in the gang does that from time to time. Sometimes, it just seems like the rightest thing to do._

_Warm air was circulating throughout the entire building, and it felt wonderful. My toes were getting feeling in them again, and my cheeks were heating up real quick. I figured, if I had to stay out in that cold all day - or if I hadn't plucked up the courage to go inside Winsor's - , I'd've frozen to death. Well, I know at least a few toes would've frozen to death, anyways._

_I picked my way through a small crowd, and made for a corner table. I hung my jacket on the back of my chair. With a shaking hand, I withdrew a smoke from the package I had stuffed between my arm and my T-shirt sleeve. The lighter was shakey too._

_I glanced around the diner for Carolyn. I finally spotted her._

_The uniforms they had to wear weren't all that flattering, but I thought she looked great anyhow. She was a different person when she was in her waitress uniform. She was older in her uniform and assured of everything she did when she was standing on those tiles in those Keds._

_She had her hair pinned over on one side, and it really showed off her face._

_I shook my eyes off of her quickly; I noticed I was staring a little too long. She was taking a group of five boys' orders. About half-way through the order, I could hear them almost the whole way across the restaurant._

_"Now, lady, why the hell do I have to say my damn order again? How many times it been? Two?" some guy asked her. I chomped down kind of hard on the cigarette I had dangling from my mouth. He was talking to her like she was stupid. I knew why she had to have him repeat it; when she gets nervous and shy, she seems to forget things faster than usual. She didn't often have to take orders from a big group of boys. Typically, it was a group of girl friends or a boy and girl, together. She was just nervous._

_I knew why she didn't usually get the large groups of boys: they sent the small-footed, soft-skinned, thin girls to do it. But Winsor's was real damn busy today, so Carolyn had to cover some of those customers. I sort of wanted to go over there and tell them to cool it, to just their goddamn mouths, but I just sat there, smoking cigarette after cigarette. They weren't tasting very good, but I kept hoping they'd get better._

_I watched while a boy laughed a little too loudly after Carolyn walked away after bringing them their food._

* * *

It made me a little angry.

She tried to laugh it off, but since she didn't have as tough a hide as she needed, I saw that it hurt her feelings somewhat.

Some courage, or possibly false-drunkenness, came from somewhere deep inside me.

"I'm gonna go see somethin' at the Nightly Double tomorrow . . . um . . . Do ya wanna maybe come with me?"

A smile crossed her lips. "Who all is goin'?" she wondered. Carolyn was going to say yes. She was going to go on a date with me. She was. She was. She was! Wow, man, would I have something to tell the boys!

"Uh, me of course, Ponyboy, and Dallas," I said, while staring down at her feet. Silence followed, so I looked up. "Two-Bit might show up later on, too."

Her head nodded. "Ponyboy and Dallas? That you're friend from earlier? The Ponyboy one? I don't know the others. . . . " I didn't like her interest in my buddy. I invited her. She was my friend. She didn't know Pony, or how absent-minded he was, or how nosy he could be.

I nodded. "Well, Johnny, I can't. I got a lot of homework to catch up on," she explained. I might have imagined the remorse in her tone.

"What about after? Wanna go for a walk or somethin'? We could do that," I said without much hope.

"Sorry, Johnny. Homework," she said with a bit more finality than before. I wasn't quite sure if it was what she said or the way she said it, that made me sad.

That wouldn't make it around to the guys, though. No way. I'd cut off my thumb before I'd tell the guys that I sort of liked Carolyn but she wouldn't go the movies with me and a few of the guys or on a walk with just me.

"I'll see ya sometime, okay, Johnny? Bye!" she said.

I would take her up on that. Maybe I should start looking for pop bottles, so I can get enough money for a few Cokes - I knew Carolyn was a Coke Girl; she didn't like Pepsi, she said.

Carolyn walked away. And that was all right with me. She wasn't gonna walk off the face of the earth, and neither was I. I was gonna be right there tomorrow, and Carolyn was gonna be right there, too, with me.

We weren't going anywhere. Nowhere.

Tomorrow is another day, and maybe I'll ask Carolyn out on a real date. She'll say yes. I couldn't hardly wait till tomorrow.

I jammed my fists in my pockets and hunched up my shoulders. The guys could be out. I don't want them to give me a hard time, seeing me talking with a girl.

I walked back over to the tree I was at before.

For the first time in my life, I prayed. I _really_ prayed. And I prayed, hard. I've prayed at church a little bit, but that was a while ago. Most of the prayers, I'd just close my eyes, look down, and listen to the preacher pray for us.

I've never prayed on my own before. Not really.

I didn't pray for Carolyn to go out on a date with me. I didn't pray for Carolyn to be my steady girl friend.

I prayed for her to not lay a good one across my cheek when I asked her to go with me to get a pop at the Dingo.

When I prayed, I think God really heard me.


End file.
